


Shatter Me

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Song Inspired, Song Lyrics, steampunk kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 20:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17311334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Killian had never known any life but this: a dirty cot and a room of smoke, steam, and grease. Then the boy came, telling Killian that only he could save her - the dancer with the violin.





	Shatter Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distant_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, distant_rose! Thank you for being a wonderful friend who has encouraged me when I doubt my writing abilities, has listened to my rants about mommy-guilt-trippers when it’s got to be an incredibly boring topic, and not only got me to watch Stranger Things, but let me fangirl to you over it. One of the things I loved during the CSBB were our discussions about music. I’d say we have similar tastes, but let’s face it, you have a much more refined ear than I do. I was bummed that I didn’t use “Shatter Me” more in Natural Opposite, so I wrote this for you. It’s based more on the music video, and I don’t even know how to define it other than a bizarre canon-divergence. I hope you enjoy it anyway, Ro! 
> 
> Song "Shatter Me" by Lzzy Hale and Lindsey Stirling

_If only the clockworks could speak, I wouldn’t be so alone_

Killian had never known any life but this: a dirty cot and a room of smoke, steam, and grease. Turn the crank, pull the lever, turn the crank, pull the lever, every hour on the hour.

Food arrived by the dumb waiter above his cot three times a day, morning, noon, and evening. Water for him to drink and wash with trickled down the pipes and through the tap.

Though he never attempted to leave, he somehow just knew he couldn’t. The rare times he even contemplated it, panic gripped him, for who would turn the crank and pull the lever?

He hadn’t heard a human voice in so long, his own sounded strange to his ears the few times he used it. To talk to the mice that scurried in the corners. Like bloody Cinderella.

For the most part, he had accepted this life as all he would ever have. Not that he was happy, or even content, but what could a man hope to do? Did hope even exist in this dark and grimy place? The heat oppressed him as much as anything else, holding him down like shackles.

The hook on his left hand sometimes dazzled him. He would look at it in wonder, a memory tickling the back corners of his mind, yet it would dissipate like mist before he could hold onto it. 

Then there was the voice. He could never make out what it said. Could only hear it faintly, calling from far away. Always just as the gears ground to a stop. Then he’d crank the handle, pull the lever, and just before the grinding metal drowned it out . . . music. 

Though he couldn’t recall ever hearing music before, he knew it, connected with it on a visceral level. Frantic yet melancholy, and for one split second his heart ached for something just out of reach. 

Day, after day, after day passed, each exactly the same as the last. Sleep, wake, turn the handle, pull the lever, eat, sleep, wake . . . 

Until one day, the boy came. Killian stood mute at his appearance, this fresh-faced lad with a brightness to his eyes and determination in his bearing.

“What -” was all his misused voice could choke out.

“It’s me, Henry. I’ve come to rescue you.”

“Henry?”

The boy reached to grab his arm, and they both stilled as they heard it: just as the gears wound down, the voice. And for the first time, Killian could make out the faint words:  _help me_.

The boy – Henry? He said that name as if it should mean something – yanked on his arm. “Hurry! Only you can save her!”

But the handle, and the lever. It was the top of the hour, and Killian couldn’t say no to the compulsion. He reached for the gears.

“No!” Henry shouted, attempting to pull him back.

Killian wrenched free. Turn the handle, pull the lever. Henry clutched at his own hair frantically. He looked wildly around the small space, and before Killian could stop him, he lifted a sledgehammer he’d found in the corner and slammed it into the gears. Now it was Killian attempting to stop the boy, screaming, “No!” The handle  _had_ to be turned, the lever  _had_ to be pulled. On the hour, every hour. If not . . . what? He didn’t know, but it had to be catastrophic. Right?

The gears creaked as nuts and bolts popped free at Henry’s onslaught. A scream rent the air. Fear flashed in the boy’s eyes. 

“Come on, hurry!”

Killian followed Henry down corridors lined with hissing pipes and bursts of steam. Part of him felt a surge of panic at leaving his post, but as they ran, the voice grew louder, and not only that – music. Louder, and louder it grew – sweet, beautiful music.

They burst out of the passageway and into a large, domed room. A tiny circular window far above was the only illumination, and the sun shone down from it onto a giant glass globe that swirled with sparkling white flashes of light and snow. 

Mesmerized, Killian drew close, holding his breath, for never in his miserable life had he seen anything so exquisitely beautiful. There, spinning on a pedestal was a stunning, graceful ballerina. Her blonde hair, like shimmering gold, was held up in a loose bun. Her skin was like porcelain, smooth and perfect. She was dressed in a pink tutu with pink ballet slippers on her feet, the satiny ribbons criss-crossing up her legs, one of which was held aloft. Her arms held a violin which she played mechanically, her eyes staring straight ahead as she spun. Though her eyes never fell upon him, still her lips moved, crying out, sounding muffled by her glass prison:  _help me_.

“This is what those gears were doing to her!” Henry screamed at him. 

“Who - who is she?” 

Henry’s face crumpled at his words, though Killian couldn’t understand why. The boy pounded on the glass, but only a dull thud resounded through the cavernous room. 

Killian gazed upon her face – so perfect. She almost seemed . . . doll like. He stepped forward and touched the glass lightly with his trembling hand. He gasped when a tiny crack spread beneath his palm. He looked from the cracked glass to the ballerina’s face. Her jade eyes finally met his. 

“Killian,” she whispered.

He gasped and stumbled backwards. How did she know his name? As he recoiled, her eyes grew sad, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. 

“Look!” Henry cried, pointing at the tear, for in its wake, a crack formed on the ballerina’s smooth cheek, a sliver of light shining through. “You can save her!”

Henry pushed him forward, but Killian shook his head. “No! No, I can’t!”

The light upon her cheek faded, and the beautiful dancer slumped forward, her violin and bow dangling from her hands. The haunting melody she had played ended abruptly.

“Don’t!” Killian cried, the loss of her music and the gaze of her eyes cutting him deep. He rushed to the globe, and without thinking, struck it with his hook. A web of cracks spread across the glass, and the dancer was upright again. Killian took a deep breath, lifted his hook, and struck again. More cracks, and now the dancer lifted her violin. He continued to strike the globe as the ballerina played faster and faster. The more she played, the more cracks appeared in her porcelain façade, and the more fluidly her limbs moved. Finally, she stumbled from the pedestal and reached towards him. 

“Don’t stop!” Henry screamed. “You’re saving her!”

Transfixed by the green of her eyes and the light streaming from her, Killian reached forward with his hand. She dropped her bow and lifted her own hand to meet his. They pressed their palms together, with only the cracked glass of the globe between them. A warmth seemed to spread through him, and he released a gasping breath as his heart swelled. 

“Emma!”

The smile that filled her face at the sound of her name from his lips was the final crack in the china doll chrysalis that held her captive. The surge of light that burst from her arched her body and pulsed outward. The glass globe exploded in a shower of jagged shards. Killian spun, suddenly realizing that his clothes had changed. He was no longer wearing the suspenders and cheap muslin shirt he had worked in for what felt like so long. He now wore his pirate garb of black leather, topped with his heavy duster. He used the outer garment to shield himself and Henry from the shrapnel of glass. 

He braced himself for the jagged onslaught, mentally prepared himself to feel the sharp lacerations to his skin, thinking only to protect Henry. But the pain never came. He looked up hesitantly to see sparkles of light falling around him instead of shards of glass. No longer was he in that underground world of metal, steam, and cranking gears.

He blinked to see a group gathered before him: Snow and her prince, Bae, Regina. The final one lowered her outstretched hands in confusion. Killian stood up and turned to see Emma and her lad standing beside her yellow vessel right before the town line. Pan’s curse . . . 

Emma had eyes for him alone; tear-filled eyes. She took moved towards him on unsteady feet, and he met her halfway, clasping her in his arms. 

“You found me,” she whispered. 

He glanced over her shoulder at Henry. “We both did.”

Killian cupped her face in his hand, and she didn’t pull away. He remembered what she’d said when he told her not a day would go by that he wouldn’t think of her: “Good.” Had that only been a moment ago?

She gave him a slight nod of encouragement, tilting her head up for him. He bent to meet her, their lips touching. This wasn’t like their first kiss. This was tender, full of love and wonder. Their love, new as it was, had broken the curse.  

    



End file.
